


The 25th Duel

by Zinfandel



Series: Waiting For You [5]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Consensual Violence, M/M, Sandy ruins everything!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:11:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zinfandel/pseuds/Zinfandel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pitch finds it fun to harass Jack with heat & pollution. Sandy doesn't find this fun at all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fight

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah! It's all an unbeta'd mess, but it's MY unbeta'd mess! I'd love to hear some critical takes on the piece...or any of my stories for that fact, but asking for that makes me feel lame ahahaha...
> 
> If there are neat suggestions for anything you'd like to see me write out please make them! Sometimes prompts work better than off the top of my head :|
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Salty water dripped from his chin. This damn place was so hot his chill body temperature wouldn’t even let the sweat from his pores cool him by shifting phase. Why the hell did Pitch choose this god forsaken hell-hole for their monthly duel? Gritting his teeth, Jack knew EXACTLY why. That bastard!

A toothy grin left no room for interpretation. The man was having a ball watching the winter sprite suffer the tepid humidity of the Indonesian city.

Jakarta absolutely sucked!

He was exhausted. His icy attacks didn’t last long in this climate. Both of them were drenched in sweat and ever thawing ice. Jack couldn’t keep a cube frozen here. Not to mention the stagnant smog og industrialization really made his head spin. The hour was late and though he was loath to admit it Jack might have to simply forfeit. The sun was already coming up and while neither of them had win/lose worthy injuries the sheer vigor and magnitude of their night-long romp was taking its toll.

——

Pitch had taken the initiative this fight and found Jack on their now designated monthly appointment. Jack was just getting ready to meet the children as they were released from school somewhere in Wales to kick up a good time. The winter spirit sensed the tell-tale sign of Pitch’s shadows tingling at the back of his neck beckoning him over into unnaturally darker shade from some trees. As he entered the twilight his rival’s voice echoed from many points.

“The terrain is my choice today. Objections?”

Sighing, Jack shrugged his shoulders. “Nope. But it’s the middle of the afternoon. What did you have in mind…I was going to slick some hillsides for a bit of tubing after school.”

He could hear the grin pulling at shadowy invisible cheeks. “Do you trust me, Jack Frost?”

The guffaw couldn’t be held back. “Hell no-!” But any further retort was swallowed by instant darkness. Jack’s eyes were blinded and his feet no longer touched the ground. The only anchor to anything in what felt like might be an eternity of never-ending intangible obscurity was his staff. He had a death grip on the object instantly and his voice failed him. He couldn’t scream or gasp or sob. None of his senses seemed to work in the slightest. He was absolutely and utterly lost.

Then, heat. Sticky humid tepid unbearable heat! A shiver ran down his spine from the sudden climate change and fear licked at his stomach. There was a floor! His knees crashed against it. It was gritty and hot and rough. His hands found it next and he instantly collapsed upon it and pressed his cheek into the sickeningly heated stone. It was undesirable but it was a sensation. It was his only sensation.

“Stop being dramatic.”

Jack’s eyes shot open. He saw blackness still, but wait. No. The blackness had texture, shape, and form. He was looking at Pitch’s booted toes. Gasping he sat up quickly and his head shot upright to find his adversary’s face.

“What the hell did you do to me?!” He roared, the wind plucking him off the asphalt and fixing him once more on his feet.

“Just a bit of a scene change is all.” Pitch’s hands were behind his back and the amused smug-as-hell smirk on his lips ate at Jack’s gut.

This insufferable jerk! Sometimes he wondered why he went through the effort of forcing the friendship! Pitch only seemed resigned to his fate for two fights after their decisive eighteenth battle. Now, only seven matches later the Nightmare King seemed to relish in the encounters just as much as Jack was. Their conversations, though short and without much meaning were becoming less and less one-sided. Pitch was actually contributing a little more each time even though his efforts were all skewed and twisted and only shadows of what real interaction should be.

Still fuming and huffy, Jack finally took a second to examine their surroundings. It was night. Of course. Well, evening to be precise, the sun was just setting now. They were on the sidewalk of some grimy city. The weather was horrifically hot and Jack already felt the dampness in his hoodie and pants from his frost melting.

Great. Just great. Another Equator fight. He knew Pitch loved to torment him however possible by throwing such variables within their fights, and now that their meetings were scheduled it gave both of them more time to plan, to set-up scenarios and possibly even obstacles. Jack was quickly discovering Pitch’s proclivity for luring him into traps and snares now that they were ‘friends.’

He couldn’t deny it was fun though! It gave a new edge to their fights and Jack found himself slicking up icy runways and paths when he chose the terrain to create veritable roller coasters of ice to trip Pitch into.

Grumbling, Jack shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets and stepped back. “Where are we then?”

“Jakarta.”

“Oh joy.”

“-To the World, the lord has come. Getting into the spirit and what-not.” Pitch chirped as he unclasped his hands and brought them forwards summoning up his favorite weapon.

Jack almost choked! Did Pitch just make a joke?! His mouth was open and he puffed a disbelieving giggle. “Oh my god, Pitch. It’s only November you know!”

His only reply was a vicious slash right at his chest and a harsh cackle.

Flipping backwards Jack took off into the air closely pursued.

The evening wasted away into the night, as the hours passed nicks, and cuts, and bruises, and abrasions kept the time like minutes.

—-

Now the Sun was peaking over the horizon and they both were drenched. Exhaustion seeped into their bones and they could both see the wide openings they left each other but almost unable to act upon them.

Jack had taken to hopping from roof-tops instead of flying, and Pitch was hiding in alleys and behind buildings more often to catch a breath in a relieving shadow. They were both stiff, their breathing mocking wheezes in the polluted air, but neither wanted to admit defeat. They had been going strong for near ten hours now and Jack knew if he could keep going till the sun came up he would have this one in the bag!

Leaping into the air Jack had found his target lurking behind a building a block over by the denser shadows leaking out onto the street below. Pitch was planning something; he was gathering shadows…perhaps for a grand finish? Jack would not let him! Darting around to the lighter side, Jack rounded the building and gathered up the best super-chilled swirl of razor-sharp ice shards he could muster under the circumstances and—-

Golden whips flashed out!

Shadows dissolved instantly and sucked themselves back to their owner in the blink of an eye accompanied by a very startled yelp. Jack’s eyes went wide. His heart hammered in his ribcage.

No. NO! Not now!

Wild eyes darted up. Sandy! Sandy was overhead both of them, dual whips in hand glimmering brilliantly in the morning sunlight that was high enough to reflect off his glittering form. Heaving ,Jack wrenched his eyes from a sight he would never NEVER think in a million years would be as unwelcome as it felt now. He glanced down at Pitch and saw his glowing golden eyes darting from Sandy to his in mirror fashion.

Their expressions were parallel, at least for a brief moment. Below, golden-eyed fear raced between astonishment, puzzlement, disbelief, and….relief?

Jack could tell his own face was horrified, His fear most evident. Confusion quickly followed, regret stung at his eyebrows, and then anger.

Pitch took a step back when he found that emotion directed at him. Jack was surprised but his thoughts were derailed as the silent moment between the trio had crumbled as Sandy hurried to Jack’s side. Now Pitch mirrored Jack once again, a mask of anger painting his features.

Quickly turning towards his fellow guardian, Jack silently examined his facial expression trying to decipher the intent in the dream-weaver’s eyes. His own voice lost in his surprise and panic for he didn’t trust it.

The Sandman was aghast. Symbols flashed over his head rapidly and Jack had to refocus upon the sign language and not the eyes a few times. He translated to himself that Sandy was distressed about Jack’s wounds. Pitch had obviously administered them, Why hadn’t Jack called for help?!

Sandy was readying his whips again to capture the villain and Jack had a brief moment of indecision. Wildly he glanced from Sandy, equipped to triumph, and Pitch, who stood in utter disbelief on the pavement his mouth agape, angry disbelief on his brow.

No! This was all wrong! Without a second more of stupid useless hesitation Jack hurtled out of the air after Pitch, a vicious shout ripping from his throat.

Sandy must have been rattled because he didn’t follow…immediately.

Crashing to the pavement, Jack gripped Pitch and forced them both into a roll down the street. The boy expertly maneuvered their bodies till he was straddling his enemy, both hands clutched around the Nightmare King’s throat.

Golden eyes were wide with wariness and betrayal, but Jack’s fingers only gave the illusion of force as he tensed his muscles.

Gasping, Jack leaned in close trying his best to shield his lips from Sandy, should he approach. He only had a few seconds!

“Shit. Pitch. I’ll get you outa here-!” He whispered hoarsely. He was exhausted and he felt his muscles and joints already begin to protest at anticipated actions.

Before that mortified expression below him could even register what he said, could even fathom shifting into one of recognition, Jack Frost was reeling off his body. The wind picked up the small winter sprite and flung him backwards. He crashed into the pavement and rolled to his side in a sickeningly defeated manner.

Pitch was almost on his knees to try and shake the kid wondering if he was alright! What had happened?! Sitting up he was halfway there before Jack moved again. Burying his snowy head under his elbow to shield his face from the sandy Guardian finally flying to the rescue, Icy blue eyes found golden ones once more-

Oh! Pitch finally got it! If Jack was in any position to laugh he would have been doubled over. The guy never ceased to astonish him with his lack of recognition. At least he was able to get in a wink to help his intentions sink home.

Gray hairless eyebrows quickly furrowed into a furiously maniacal expression. Pitch couldn’t think fast enough through such a sudden turn of events to come up with a good villainous one-liner, especially since he was also so exhausted from the night long work-out. All he managed was a rough bark of laughter before taking off into the air, staying low and within the range of the building’s shadows. He had to find one deep and dark enough in the now almost morning light.

Once Pitch had taken off, Jack rolled over and sat up. He glanced at Sandy who was now hovering worriedly over him symbols flashing. Jack grimaced a bit as he felt a sharp twinge in his chest. Oh…broken ribs. Nice. He grinned through the pain though to address his colleague.

“Damn. Looks like he got away.” Jack said with maybe a bit too much relief in his voice. He was too tired to care.

Sandy shook his head quickly, a frown on his lips as symbols graced the air once more. A silhouette of Pitch, a square of bars, a Judge’s gavel. Jack’s stomach flipped.

“N-no, Sandy let’s just let him go, I’m sure he’s not up to anything.”

The little man didn’t believe him, Jack knew it. Before he could protest anymore a small golden cloud formed around pudgy feet. Sandy darted away leaving symbols telling Jack to rest there floating in the air.

Cursing, Jack heaved himself up and took off after the other. Just their luck that Sandy was being persistent! Did Jack really cut such a poor figure that even Sandy, who always seems so relaxed and easy-going, couldn’t trust him?

He quickly caught up to find the Sandman hot on Pitch’s heels. The nightmare sand roiled behind its king half formed horses and other creatures rearing back biting off the golden assault.

Without thinking Jack bolted right in the middle. He forced the wind to urge him on desperately. He made a show of firing bolts and shards of ice that arched wildly missing every target but coming convincingly close.

His ice pierced through black and gold sand alike and scattered the particles in wet slushy bursts. His ice was becoming harder and harder to keep solid. He maneuvered his body back and forth keeping the illusion he was attacking the blackness to the best of his abilities.

Sandy tried to lash out and wrap whips of sand around Pitch’s retreating figure to capture and contain him. Jack quickly swerved right into its path. The sand whipped at his back. A shout that couldn’t be bitten back ripped through his throat but he refused to fall. Sandy stopped, horrified with himself. Good! Pitch paused to look back. Not Good.

Then the golden opportunity presented itself. Their chase had led them through countless city blocks; they were making their way towards the steadily filling up business districts. The buildings were becoming taller and the shadows still lingered in the sooty smoggy morning air. Jack was able to pick it out as he raced to catch up with his not-quite-foe. An inky blackness yawned open as bright lights shot from its depth. A subway tunnel opening to the surface!

“HEY!” The winter sprite shouted for attention. He got it. Pitch, barely slowing in his escape, turned to lock eyes once more his face was impassive. There was no time to react however, the Nightmare King wasted that precious second simply by turning his head.

A cannon-ball of white hair and black hoodie bowled him right out of the air.

They both plummet through the smog tumbling through the exhaust of cars and the hazy morning air.

Jack could feel his strength fail him from his last burst of speed and colliding with such a solid mass made him fear for the next collision seconds away.

Inky black arms wrapped around him and gray ones did the same. Then pain. Dark bone crunching pain. The pair collided with the tracks of the tunnel rolling into the abyss nearly as dark as the chest Jack’s face was pressed into. They tumbled together several meters before finally stopping.

Gasping, Jack could feel his body broken. Neither of them had much stamina left to perform a better landing. Not to mention the more violent it was the less Sandy would suspect.

Ever so gingerly shadowy appendages dissipated into the blackness. Jack felt stifled in the pressing heat and darkness but couldn’t move as he concentrated on simply breathing. It was hard. His ribs pressed into his chest he could feel their jagged breaks with each expansion of his lungs. Then, a weight rolled off of him. Oh. That was much better. Jack nearly swooned with relief as he felt lighter.

Pitch rolled off from atop Jack’s chest and laid beside the sprite also gasping for breath, too stunned to even think of disappearing quite yet as his mind reeled.

“Fucking Sandy…” His hoarse yet light whisper chuckled wetly. Jack could feel the tears welling in his eyes as that laugh sent darts of pain across his chest.

A snort met Jack’s ears at his offhand comment. Pitch laughed at the irony of such a statement. He let a hesitant and pained sigh escape his lips after a pause trying to catch his breath.

The moment is lost in a flash. Golden light makes it way from the opening of the tunnel. Sandy. Again. Both downed immortals instantly tense, and both flinch away because damn that hurt.

“This is still my win,” whispers the man that is now consumed by his own blackness.

“Oh Moons. Just get out of here.” Jack bites back.

Without further ado the shadows that seemed to roil with life disappear. Pitch is gone and the blackness Jack finds himself in now is hollow and empty.

Golden light brightens the tunnel and Jack just lays in the darkness resting his eyes and sore limbs until Sandy is finally hovering over him.

Cracking an eye open he watches as Sandy recognizes his consciousness and proceeds to string out image after image. Questions glow over his head and concern paints his round face. Jack gets the message though and gropes around the darkness to find his staff that was once more out of reach.

Sandy then blinks back and stops his one-sided scolding to quickly locate the staff and use a bit of his sand to drift it back to its owner. Jack clutches at it and proceeds to try and stand up. A curl of the torso in just the wrong direction has the boy wincing and swearing as he falls back on the sooty black grit.

Worry etching the glowing face of the elder guardian prompts him to quickly lift Jack into the air on a fluffy cloud bed of sand. Sandy perches beside him and they fly from the tunnel back into the sky and away from such noxious pollution.

Relief is in his sigh as Jack reclines into the sand. “Thanks little man. If you don’t mind could I ask for a ride back to Burgess?”

Sandy nods and Jack closes his eyes to catch some Zz’s.


	2. The Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...Sandy doesn't take Jack where he asks....and it all snowballs from there!  
>  (pun totally intended)

Groaning, Jack rolled to his side still in half-consciousness trying to find a better sleeping position on his ice. Stabbing pain and a range of other confusing sensations sent the boy bolting upright wide awake, alert suspecting an attack.

Sitting made him flinch but when he motioned to flop back down that hurt too so he settled himself while upright and took stock of his surroundings.

Oh no. He was in a fluffy bed. The heat in his dream was the welcoming warmth of the North Pole and not the irritated memories of sweaty Indonesia. The tightness all over his body, that seemed to stifle and restrict his every breath and movement, was a mass of cloth bandages wrapping his torso and chest, his arms and wrists, his fingers, he felt some across his forehead, and on each leg stiffening his knees with the fabric, and not the suffocating blackness of nightmare sand trying to squeeze the life out of him.

His black hoodie and leather sheath for his staff were missing, his chest was bare. He felt the warmth of the sheets on his bare legs finding his pants had been taken as well. His staff was generously propped up against the wall next to the headboard. At least they hadn’t taken that. Sighing, he quietly cursed. North had effectively pinned him down. He couldn’t run away, not when his only clothing was being held hostage. Why did Sandy have to bring him here? A few broken ribs were nothing to bring the cavalry out for.

Maybe he could find a yeti first and get his stuff back with some sweet talk and be out of here before anyone felt warm again? Decision made, the boy gathered the sheets around him and swung his feet off the side of the bed. He was adjusting his makeshift skirt around his hips when all plans of a stealthy get-away were obliterated by the creak of the door. Frozen like a deer in headlights, Jack’s mouth fell open.

All of them. All four of them were crowding into this little room. Jack gaped, astonished. They seemed to be surprised as well and the two parties just stared at each other for a moment.

“Oh Jack! I’m so glad you’re ok!” Tooth was always the one who broke first. She zipped right on over to the boy and circled him a good five times before settling in front and giving him a light and ginger hug so as not to aggravate any hurts. Jack’s heart stuttered. Fluttering back she put both hands on his shoulders and looked straight into his eyes, very serious.

“We just got here. What happened? Sandy said it was Pitch in Indonesia. Why were you in Indonesia anyways? That’s on the Equator! Oh look at all the bandages! It must have been terrible!” She babbled and only stopped by North’s own hand on her shoulder. She released the Winter Sprite and sheepishly hovered back a bit.

“Jack, sit.” North asked while pulling a chair for himself away from the wall.

Doing just that, Jack found himself cornered with no way to escape now. This conversation was going to be rough. He kept a hesitant smile on his face though as the other three guardians found their own relaxing positions for what they all planned out to be a long encounter.

Bunny sat on the other side of jack’s bed his arms crossed, a sour look on his face. “Ya damn idjit. What were you thinking? You were lucky Sandy found ya when he did.”

Sandy hovered on his own cloud of sand nodding.

Tooth perched on the mantelpiece.

“Uhm….Thanks for patching me up, I guess?” Jack said timidly while tracing the grooves in his staff not being able to make eye contact now.

“Tell us what happened?” North prompted, kindly.

“….”Jack glanced up to Sandy trying to decipher the expression the little guy had to judge what might have been said or what he might be caught lying about. He disliked lying to them but really the only lie that still held any weight (fun pranks and white lies that were quickly found out meant nothing) was this very situation that he had kept hush-hush for going on eleven years now.

“Well pretty much…whatever Sandy has told you. What has he told you?” All eyes went to the Sandman who for a moment stared at Jack his expression a bit irritated before he motioned back to North.

North cleared his throat, making it obvious that neither Tooth nor Bunny knew anything yet. “Sandy brought you here unconscious. I had Yeti’s take care of you, but all Sandy told me was he found two of you mid-fight in _Jakarta._ Pitch ran when he saw Sandy and both of you chased him before you tackled him into subway tunnel and fled.”

Tooth twittered and gasped her palms hiding her mouth. Bunny ground his teeth together and shifted position. Sandy still had his eyes trained on Jack.

“Ah…yeah. That sounds about right.” Jack said lightly. Good he didn’t have to lie…much.

“Why were you even there?” Tooth asked quietly.

“Uh…” Jack paused and looked around quickly, almost guiltily. “I was on my way to the southern hemisphere…”

“But it’s November, mate. Winter is up here right now.” The rabbit’s tone was biting.

Jack flinched a bit at being called out. “I was heading for the South Pole. Where else? It was just a bit of bad luck. Really.”

Bunny sighed and stood up. “Whatever. You’re fine now right?” he asked.

“Peachy keen. Thanks for the concern, Bugs.” If Jack didn’t look half like a mummy right now he knew Bunny would smack him for the remark. He grinned devilishly at the thought.

“I’m too busy for this!” Bunny retorted throwing his hands in the air before leaving the room. Jack was thankful the Pooka gave up before even trying this time.  His voice trailed back down the hallway, “Call me if there is actually an emergency next time!”

Good. One down, three to go. Jack smiled easier now. Bunny was the second most person he didn’t want to find out about his new friendship with their nemesis. North being the first of course. The perceived rejection Jack had if they knew and didn’t (wouldn’t) understand or accept bit at his heart sometimes.

Huffing, North stood as well. “After Christmas We talk.” He was also busy and Jack knew that only something that greatly concerned the man could pull him out of his workshop in November, like he had now. He swelled a little with affection that he could cause such a disturbance.

Smiling, Jack waved him off. He then glanced over to tooth who was hovering again. The conversation was easily derailed, thank god, and Jack was able to make short work of it all. “You can go Tooth, I know you are busy too, I’m fine. Really.” He said cheerily, not having to fake the words at all to his pleasant surprise.

Tooth wrung her hands but darted towards the door just the same. She was about to zip through when a wall of fur stopped her path. Gasping she flitted back as Phil stepped into the room. The yeti deftly set down a pile of clothing on the dresser, Jack’s clothing. Freshly laundered and all patched up in the right places. Jack beamed at the yeti and gave him a salute as the creature ducked back out the door not wasting a moment.

“I’m glad you’re ok then, Jack. Please come and visit more often,” Tooth smiled warmly before waving her goodbye and soaring back to work.

Now, it was just Jack and Sandy. The smile fell from the boy’s lips as the two made eye contact and he feared the worst.

The small elder drifted down to the bed and settled himself upon the sheets not two feet from Jack. The boy gulped and rubbed at his wrapped broken fingers nervously. “S-Sandy?”

Arms were crossed and an almost glare graced the eyes of normally always cheerful dreamweaver.

He knew…

Sandy knew!

Jack fumbled, looked at his clothes meters away, his only escape. He gathered the sheet around him nervously and fidgeted, aborting trying to flee. He gasped when a small hand warmed his knee. Nearly wide eyes darted down to the hand then instantly found Sandy’s face again. The angry look melted away to one of concern and mild confusion.

“What should I say?” he whispered, almost terrified.

A miniature replay of Jack sneaking up behind Pitch played before his eyes. It was the moment of the fight right before Sandy intercepted. Jack grinned in spite of himself, “I bet I would have won, no clue what hit ‘im.” The palm on his knee gripped at the sheet.

“Ah…oh…” Jack had to stop his smile and put on a serious face again. “Sorry.”

Sandy shook his head, frown still apparent.

“Sandy….It’s uh…complicated?” He tried. The Sandman would have none of that.

“Ok….” He tried again to form the right phrases in his head. He could think of no way to spin this away from the truth.

Instead, his resolve broke. Quickly Jack gathered up the small spirit’s hand in both of his and he held it earnestly, gripped it like a life-line. “Oh Sandy. Please don’t tell anyone. It’s not bad at all I promise. We have an _agreement._ Sort of…”

Honey eyes went wide at the sudden solicitation. The other small hand reached up and completed the clasp. Sandy figures danced overhead and Jack’s eyes had to avert from his to read them. Why? What sort of deal? They silently asked.

“F-“It was almost just as hard to say the word to someone so caring as it was to try and convince his long time enemy to accept it. This was a battle of a whole different sort. “Friendship.” He almost wheezed out.

The grip tightened on bandaged icy fingers. Jack might have winced if his threshold for pain was anywhere near where it used to be.

“He’s not playing me. I know you’re concerned. We’re not…like _friends_ friends. Just more like…Sparring partners?” Curiosity painted that golden visage. “We fight. It’s a game. The score is now 10-10 with 5 draws. He claimed the win today though I might have to argue its validity” He trailed off but small hands squeezed and brought him back to the present. The look in those eyes made him stop.

“Wh-what?”

Sandy was shocked. Twenty-five fights between their newest guardian and their arch enemy seemed to strike the small man dumb. Sandy images illustrating disbelief, concern, personal failure to protect, and guilt flashed over his head his expression speaking volumes.

“No!” It was Jack’s turn to squeeze back, his own expression imploring him to understand. “Sandy no. Don’t be upset! I wanted this! I like it. I was the one who started it! And…and. I know it’s ok. I can feel it within me. He’s having fun. Pitch Black is having fun. With ME. It’s not snowballs and sled riding kind of fun, sure, but it is fun. I know when someone is having a good time and why should I exclude Pitch from it?”

The look he got was stern.

“Ok. Yeah. It didn’t start out like that. You remember when I tried to tell you guys I defeated him twice, right? It took a while but the ninth time we clashed he was laughing. LAUGHING, Sandy! It was like a totally different dimension!” Jack released the small hands and flung his arms wide in his excitement. “I split his lip wide open and he was drooling blood and laughing at it! And-and in Peru, he won of course, but actually talked to me after the fight. He sat on a rock and talked to me for a good half hour. I was bleeding out of course and couldn’t move or fight so there was nothing for it…but then. THEN, Sandy, he _gave me my staff back_. He could have snapped it in half again and I could still be out in the Andes trying to heal with no powers. And you know what he did NEXT??” Jack was practically babbling now with enthusiasm. Any hesitation or reserve he had out the window in his excitement to try and make the little man understand.

Sandy didn’t even know what expression to have on his face. That shocked look seemed like it might be frozen there permanently now. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, but Jack didn’t seem to notice as he was finally unleashing his story to someone who would listen! (“No, Jack I don’t want to hear about how he dislocated your shoulder and broke your shin” “But Jamie it was so COOL!”)

“I was out like a light being fixed by North’s elves for two days up in the mountains trying to heal, and when I woke up you know what I found under the snow right beside me?” He was practically buzzing anticipating his big reveal. The winter sprite was on his knees now, how he got there lost in his excitement. “A hoodie! He gave me a new hoodie! He destroyed my blue one when he took me out and it’s in rags, but he got me a new one! It’s a zip up, it has two pockets instead of one, it’s all fleecy on the inside and the tag says Egyptian Cotton. Can you believe he got me a hoodie from Egypt? Sure it’s black and all, but you can’t fault the guy for that predilection, right? He is the king of shadows.”

He was off the bed in an instant clutching the sheet around his hips and went to gather his clothes Phil had so kindly returned. Bringing them back to the bed he sat down again and eagerly handed Sandy the black sweatshirt. He beamed when small hands unfolded the clothing and examined it.

“I wouldn’t wear it if I didn’t already check for spells or curses on it. I couldn’t smell or sense anything. Only other thing of his I ever get on me is all that nightmare sand.” He didn’t mention the burgundy blood. Jack set his leather sheath that was folded on top of his pants on the bed and began to try and shimmy the tight leather slacks back up his legs. All the old cuts and nicks and rips in the ancient fabric seemed to be magically mended. Jack made a mental note to thank North later for such a nice gesture. The pants wouldn’t fit over his bandaged legs however, so re-adjusting the sheets Jack began to unravel the cloth dressings. His whole demeanor was light now. The worry of just a half hour ago seemed like fiction to him once he got the story off his chest. He was smiling to himself as he undid the cloth leaving Sandy to examine his second most prized possession.

A hand on his back signaled his attention and he left off unwrapping his legs to look back at Sandy. The expression that met his eyes made his face fall. It was so hard for him to decipher those looks sometimes. Had he not explained it correctly? Sandy, though fierce, should be the most understanding, right?

“Wh-whats wrong? I thought I-“ He was cut off by a gesture to his injuries. Especially to his broken ribs.

“My ribs?” They’re fine. They’ll heal in about a week…”

An image of a throbbing boo-boo on a knee appeared overhead.

“Hurt? Nah it doesn’t hurt. This is just like scraping your knee at the playground! Some spit would have sufficed.”

Worry painted the golden face once more and he gestured again at Jack’s ribs. He was trying to say that broken ribs were leagues worse than scraped knees.

Jack seemed to get it after a second, but his sudden recognition shifted to a darker expression almost instantly. He had to avert his eyes and he looked down at the sheets, his fingers finding the fabric and worrying with it nervously. Another hand on his thigh tried to signal him to speak.

“S-sandy….” He whispered now. The dreamweaver leaned in closer. “I…” He tried to start but he was anxious, the old and well established fear of rejection creeping up his spine. Should he say it? Say what exactly? There has never been anyone willing to listen to his thoughts before right this very minute. Was it safe to expose himself like this? It felt like he was about to open himself willingly for a knock-out punch in the throat. His instincts for survival screamed no. But this was Sandy! His friend! The guardian Jack knew the longest! The only one that had acknowledged his very existance first, the one Jack trusted the most. Yeah. Yeah he could do it...he _would_ do it. He was strong enough for this. 

“I like….it.” No, that wasn’t what he wanted to say. Was it? Jack pressed his hand into his chest and visibly winced at the pressure inflicted on such tender flesh. “I like…the pain. Is that bad?”

That small hand pressed into his thigh and Sandy neither approved nor disapproved the question. Jack had no choice but to continue.

“Getting hurt…makes me feel alive. Solid.” His words were hesitant, meek. “Th-the pain is like…a reaffirmation that I actually exist. It’s not like a playground scrape at all.” He swallowed. “It’s not like tripping or getting a splinter. When it is done by someone else…By another person, it’s an acknowledgement by them that I am there…That I am physically tangible and that I affect them." Jack had to pause. He was shocking even himself. "That I really…That my actions are directly responsible…for…Do you get it? These broken ribs are proof!” He practically gasped out his words. Never before had such a confession graced his lips.

He moaned when he clutched at his chest, digging his fingers into his own flesh a shudder shivering his form at the pain. “This is proof that I am real!”

Sandy’s hand recoiled from him as if burned. Icy tears threatened to overflow from eyes misted with emotion and pain. Fear flitted across his features. Was Sandy disgusted with him? Were his feelings unnatural? Malignant? Quickly the eldest guardian floated up and wrapped his arms around Jack’s neck in a hug. He squeezed tightly, affectionately. Jack took a shuddering breath, it hitched with emotion and he had to swallow down his tears.

Ever so gingerly pale bandaged arms wrapped themselves around gritty golden clothes. A small hand smoothed down snowy hair in a reassuring manner.

“You’re not…mad?”

His head shook no against Jack’s cheek. The boy’s hug became tighter, less hesitant, more urgent like his arms were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

“Is it wrong to feel this way?”

Another head-shake.

Jack kept the sandman close. “You promise not to tell the others?”

Sandy hesitated.

Jack was quick to defend himself, desperately so. “I’ve only gotten Pitch to even acknowledge the word friendship six months ago. I need time. Please Sandy.”

A slow nod met his shoulder, then the small man released the hug and moved back to communicate. A calendar appeared overhead and a question mark.

“we meet up once a month right now…why?”

A pencil draws Sandy’s face onto a date on the calendar.

“You…want to keep tabs on me?”

He gestured to express his concern for Jack’s safety, referencing his injuries.

“O-ok…if this is the deal for keeping silent then I agree…But I’m not going to be forced up here every month because of a few cuts. I can take care of myself.” The boy was unsure if he looked confident enough for that statement, but he said it regardless.

Sandy nodded, though not enthusiastically, and held out a hand to seal the pact.

Jack too the hand, did a quick handshake then abruptly pulled the sandman back into a hug. Sandy did not even hesitate to wrap his arms around the boy’s neck once more and squeeze.

“Thanks, little guy. You don’t know how much this means to me…” He said with a quick tight squeeze then let him go.

After a moment, Sandy tapped his wrist like there was a watch on it. Jack smiled warmly and waved as Sandy made for the doorway to go and resume his job. Jack vaguely registered how generous the dreamweaver had been with his time for Jack.

Finally, He pulled his pants on the whole way. He flopped back onto the bed and relaxed into the plush mattress. His anxiety and want for escape had melted away with such an emotionally draining conversation. He rarely got to sleep on such cloud-like beds so Jack was going to take advantage, just this once. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmm this is pretty much the end of my pre-written stuff. From now on we forge ahead together!  
> I'd love some critical feedback if anyone is up for it. This load of crock could sure use it, I bet.


	3. Good News?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance? I know that saying that is kinda lame but writing Pitch's point of view is getting increasingly more difficult!  
> If this is really bad (which i suspect it is!) let me know and i'll go burn it. heh.

Sprawling like a rag-doll worn threadbare with no stuffing, he laughed. His irrepressible cackle rang through the caverns and bounced off crevices and curves wrought naturally in ancient stone. Pitch decided he had fallen into an alternate universe.

That had to be what this was. No such magic existed, he was sure, but what other explanation did he have for the situation he found himself in?

The laugh eventually petered out as he gasped for breath. Exhaustion won over hysterical glee and he fell silent not bothering to pick himself up or transport his body by shadows from one of the rocky tunnels littered about his domain.

He didn’t want to admit it to himself. He refused to for so damn long; long enough now that it might start becoming a habit. Well not really all that long if he compared it to the years he spent-…but the length of time it took him to sort out these feelings seemed like an eternity.

No.

He had to refuse. The whole thing was utterly ludicrous. It was laughable to think he even had feelings.

Gods. The whole situation was absolutely astounding. Not in the good way either.

Imagine. Imagine what kind of life he would have if he had found (if he had known of) the boy sooner. What if he approached him before the Moon ha-

No. No more what if’s.

Picturing a life he would never have was pointless. Though…this optimism. What was that? The what-if’s that plagued his mind had morphed over these scant years from fantasies to potential realities. What if…What if he accepted this….deal? He still refused to call it what it was.

Wait.

He was so hesitant. His broken and sore body laid still in the gloom recovering. He didn’t need to sleep it off, thank the moons. The stillness was doing wonders, but his mind was racing. It was breathtakingly active, which hindered his healing but he just couldn’t shut it off, not in the light of these new revelations, of these new feelings…of these new and glorious deeds done _for_ him.

Who was he kidding? To whom was he refusing to admit what his subconscious already knew? NO ONE!

There was _no one_. Not a single other sentient being that Pitch had to preserve his demeanor for. He was alone, alone in this tunnel convalescing from glorious wounds, alone in his own domain, his home, and alone outside it as well.

A bitter bark erupted from his lungs at the sentiment, then he cringed once more. Damn it still hurt.

There was no person past or present who gave a shit about him. Why did he have this constant pride? This constant urge for outward display? He once dismissed it as habit or routine…but who was he kidding? Hahaha. No. One. He was kidding no one but himself.

The words draped themselves over his mind and he examined them thoroughly. When had he last fallen into such a mental stupor? That was easy, upon his defeat that Easter years ago. Oh, how alone he was then drug back into his own blackness, plagued by his own powers. It took him days in the gloom to even pick himself back from oblivion to reawake and banish his own hellish dreams. Then his every waking moment was consumed with battle. No rest as he fought with his meager sands against tiding shadows only to fall into unconsciousness from exhaustion and be challenged on a different front. Eventually he overcame such tedious obstacles, and as he took this moment to think back on them they had made him stronger. The personal battle to regain supremacy in his own element also drew his mind away from those crushing thoughts that threatened to drown him any chance he gave them.  He suppressed them in a grandly stupid fashion and took about his work reclaiming his delinquent fearlings and nightmares. And that lead to Frost. And Frost banished all sorrow with its curling white lace creeping upon black like the icy chill that stole his heated breath straight from his lungs.

His head started to hurt. If there were no inhibitions upon him…Then why was it so hard to voice what he felt?

Oh he knew that answer as well. It was a mountainous task. It was epic in proportions simply because it was so _new_. The simple fact that he _was_ feeling was even new. Never before in his long years across the stars or trapped within the earth or roaming it even, had anyone…offered him…

This.

The concept was purely foreign to him. No one wanted to have civil conversation with the Nightmare King, no one wanted his company, and no one wanted him.

But…Jack….?

He still, after over ten years, was convinced this was some sort of plot.

F-friendship. The word was strange in his mind. He knew it of course but it never directly correlated with his name. Hell, Pitch Black and Friendship weren’t supposed to be in the same paragraph together.

Why was he even in this situation now? Fighting for survival was a typical experience. He had been assaulted at random by numerous spirits when he ventured out of his lair. Jack’s first attack wasn’t surprising at all, not even the third time. But the fourth time…Why did the kid keep seeking him out? When did it shift in his mind to a game?

“Fffff….” He hissed out and worked his tongue in his mouth to force out the word. “Friendship…..”

He said it.

There. He said it! His whisper seemed to hang in the air for a millennia. The word was out. It made itself real in that very instant. It was born into life by his tongue and lived in his ears.

No going back now. He had admitted it to the darkness and to himself. Speaking it aloud seemed to seal the curse.

And suddenly his hurts hurt less. His headache disappeared. What kind of magic was this? What did that brat of a spirit cast upon him to make this so? It had to be some ancient light power beyond the kid’s comprehension because it held such…force.

Pitch laughed again, the sound chimed down the hall ringing new. Some strange emotion bubbled within his core. Hope? Oh Moons. He would have to avoid that damned Pooka until he could get these new feelings restrained.

For the first time in over a decade he felt like his old self again (that is to say, the first time outside of battle with Jack). A jagged smile graced his lips as he closed his eyes to revel in the feeling. A contentment washed over him and he mentally examined every little detail of the sensation. Feeling was so…exhilarating. At the same time his mind seemed to settle.

When had he become so numb that he forgot what this was?

Then, he began to scrutinize all the little hurts within his flesh. A series of scratches across one side of his body from a barrage of razor sharp icicles, bruises down his back from a blocked onslaught of blunt hail, His neck was sore from carelessly getting it hooked within the crook of that staff. His ankles and knees ached from multiple hard landings against concrete. He felt all the broken bones that were still mending. Ribs shattered from that tumble into the subway, an upper arm from earlier, a lower arm from a second later. It was painful, but such wonderful pain.

None. Absolutely none of these wounds were inflicted with hatred.  Jack Frost was so many firsts for him he almost felt overwhelmed. No, that was exactly what he felt. He would not be lying in some dirty tunnel laughing to thin air if his mental capacity were not so challenged.

He still could not wrap his mind around the boy. What was the sprite playing at? He knew for sure that he was indeed playing at least. How serious was he? What ran through the kid’s mind as he consciously made a decision to help his enemy over his ally?

A pleasured swoon escaped his lips at that thought. Jack had chosen him over Sanderson. He hoped it made the little guardian raw.

The kid was insane! Maybe even as insane as he was for even recognizing their deal. Jack seemed to know all the right plays when it came to him too. His persistence and method were decidedly ingenious; though Pitch doubted very much if it were a conscious decision. He tickled the Nightmare King’s fancy with a good brawl and kept him hooked by all those victories. How could Pitch refuse a match when he was constantly behind? He needed every opportunity to try and best the kid. Ah. There was his pride again.

Pride seemed to be his downfall? A dark chuckle was too low to echo away from him. Humans seemed to have gotten something right. If he wallowed in his enormous pride he might not surface for days drowning in such mental folly. He refused to begin that journey.

Instead he let his eyes close and tried to quiet his decidedly riotous mind.

Ah, there. Calm finally settled in and Pitch found himself starting to drift into unconsciousness, not something he’d normally do, but why not.

Then a cold breeze chilled the drying blood on his skin.

His eyes snapped back open and an irritated growl escaped from barred teeth. It’d barely been minutes and the brat is harassing him already?!

Quickly sitting up, Pitch sank into his shadows dully noting that even the brief rest had greatly helped smooth away some aches and pains, though his ribs definitely hadn’t healed yet.

He rematerialized taking a seat on the low wall of the bridge connecting to the platform that housed his globe. There Jack was examining those infuriatingly gold lights. The kid hadn’t dared to come back here since that last fight that sort of got out of hand. Why was he here now? Why so soon? They still had the whole of December before their next match…

“What do you want now?” Pitch asked. His voice sounded more hoarse and tired, like he just woke up from a longer more restful sleep, than he wanted.

The kid spun around and the small startle from him licked at Pitch’s senses. That felt good. He wondered if he could get a bit more fear out of him. Would Jack let him without becoming violent?

“Oh! There you are! I was wondering whe-Woah. Pitch. You look awful what were you doing?” Jack quipped lightly. The younger spirit casually approached Pitch, and then took a seat on the wall opposite from him.

Pitch frowned and rubbed his tongue at the back of his clenched teeth. “What do you mean? I look this way because of you, Jack.”

And at that, Jack’s mouth fell open. With a disbelieving look, he laughed a bit more guiltily. “P-Pitch. It’s been a _week_ since Jakarta.”

A _week_? Pitch was momentarily at a loss for words. He had lolled in that cave for a week?! He looked down at his hands. They were covered in grimy soot and blood. His black clothing was streaked with browns and greys, dirt and more blood. The robe and his pants were even ripped in numerous places. Hadn’t even thought to mend away the damage to his shadowy clothing he was so absorbed in his own mind. Lord knew what his face and hair looked like. He wasn’t vain, but this was downright juvenile of him. He must have let it show on his face as well because his personal examination was abruptly interrupted by a chirping laugh. His gaze shot back up and he watched the spirit of winter literally laugh himself off the side of the bridge.

Pitch would have laughed too (At Jack falling of course) if he weren’t so mortified with his own actions and appearance. Jack floated back up into view his voice never ceasing and Pitch wiped his palms off on his robe before running fingers through knotted and matted hair. They got stuck as he combed it back a few times.

“No windows.” Was the Nightmare King’s gruff excuse, and he flinched as a new wave of mirth practically smacked him in the face.

“Why are you here?!” He snapped viciously. That got the laughter to end, thank the gods.

His eyes were malicious as he watched the boy gingerly take his seat once more. He had him on edge. Good! Little brat.

“Sandy knows.” Jack started.

The anger almost instantly fell from Pitch’s face and he had to blink a few times in disbelief. He could even feel a twinge of his own fear wriggle to life at the mad rush of disappointment that took hold of his brain. “So no mor-“

“I wasn’t finished.” Jack quickly cut Pitch off. He felt affronted but couldn’t hold that emotion for long.

“Sandy knows, but I made him promise not to tell the others. I have a deal with him now. In exchange for his silence,” Jack grinned at his oh-so-clever pun. Pitch frowned at the stupidity. “I have to meet with him once a month now too. I guess so he can check if I’m still alive or something.” The kid never ceased to amaze him with such a flippant attitude towards his own immortality.

“So then…?” Pitch found he still couldn’t confess to another being what he finally did to himself and his own darkness. He had to leave his question open ended.

“So then, I stopped by to let you know this….In case Sandy ever shows up again I guess. I bet he might. Maybe I could get him to watch? That might be fun right?”

“I doubt very much that Sanderson would just sit and watch me beat you to a pulp.” He felt the corners of his lips twitch up into a grin at the thought however.

“Good point…”

“I’m not going to go any easier on you in light of this news I hope you know. In fact, I may just have to try harder to injure you just to see what The Sandman does…” A breathy laugh escaped his lips. That would be fun- _ouch_. Ribs still shattered.

Jack certainly noticed that twinge of pain because he heard a light giggle in response. He shot the kid a glare. “This is your entire fault you know.”

“Oh yes, I am very well aware. My ribs are still broken too. I just had a bath in the meantime.”

Pitch groaned in annoyance. “If that is all you needed to say. Please. Leave.”

“Ah. One more thing.” Jack said as he floated back into the air. “If possible, let’s avoid residential areas from now on?”

“What? Can’t take a little pollution?”

“No. More people means more of a chance to run into Sandy or the little toothfairies.”

Surprising that Jack would be so observant. “Ah. Yes. Sure. Now if you will excuse me….”

“Yeah yeah. You should invite me for tea next time! Wouldn’t that be lovely! See you in two weeks!” Jack sang not letting Pitch get a word in edgewise as he took off back out a tunnel.

The Nightmare King sat there on his bridge for a while after absently picking at scabbed wounds. Maybe he would invite Jack for tea. It would be the polite thing to do. And scalding hot water near a spirit of winter was bound to end up interesting, eh?

Scalding hot water sounded good for himself right about now as well. 


End file.
